


Slaughter In The Air

by TheMightyGhost



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asgard (Marvel), Blood and Gore, Brutality, Cannibalism, Canon Divergence - Thor: The Dark World, Child Death, Childhood Trauma, Children, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Masturbation, Forced Pregnancy, Harm to Children, Heavy Angst, Imprisonment, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Loki is a Hero, Master/Slave, Motherhood, Multi, Murder, Other, Pre-Thor (2011), Pregnancy, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, The Tesseract (Marvel), Trauma, Álfheimr | Alfheim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 21:55:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20682536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyGhost/pseuds/TheMightyGhost
Summary: Life was cruel. But there was good to be found even in the darkest of places.





	Slaughter In The Air

**Author's Note:**

> Do you ever just want to write something really fucked up? This is really gross I guess, uhhh enjoy...???

_ Something in the night _

_ Something in the day _

_ Nothing is wrong but darling, something's in the way _

_ There's slaughter in the air _

_ Protest on the wind _

_ Someone else inside me _

_ Someone could get skinned, how? _

_ (My, my) someone fetch a priest _

_ You can't say no to the beauty and the beast _

_ Darling _

\- __Beauty and the Beast, David Bowie__

In her darkest days, she remembered the day she lost her mother. They had been seeking refuge in the frozen wastelands of Jotunheim, far away from their golden home, far away from the tyrannical rule of the Allfather. They thought they were safe, or at least, as safe as one could be whilst venturing through the harsh frozen lands.

They had been ambushed by a group of Jötnar who had been out hunting the big game animals who migrated with the changing seasons. Instead, they had found an Æsir woman and her young daughter huddled in the snow. It had been more than easy, too easy to be sport. But she still remembered vividly every single minute detail.

Her mother had been strung up by her ankles, hanging from the nearest tree branch. They had stripped her of her clothes and the last remaining vestiges of her dignity, and then whilst her own daughter was being forced to watch, the once mighty warrior woman had her throat slit and her blood drained like a common cow. 

It didn’t end there.

They butchered her. Sliced open her chest and extracted her innards, boiling them in a large pot. They had skinned her and one of the Jötnar started tanning the flesh, the sight of which had resulted in the young girl vomiting all over the crimson snow that surrounded her.

It didn’t end there, of course.

Her mother’s muscular limbs were pulled off one by one and feasted on by the ravenous Jötnar, their sharp teeth effortlessly sinking into the soft pink flesh. They were messy eaters, spraying parts of her mother’s body over her when they laughed at her hysterical screaming. She was eventually silenced with a muzzle, which remained on her as they extracted the bones and boiled off the last remaining bits of flesh. One of the Jötnar started cracking the bones open to suck out the marrow, another started whittling a thigh bone down into a pointed spearhead. 

Her mother’s head was desecrated. Her eyes removed and eaten as though they were succulent berries. Her brain pulled out through her nostrils with a fishing hook and diced up to be put into the pot. One of the Jötnar removed the flesh and muscle from her head and proceeded to attach the skull to his belt as a souvenir, flaunting the fact he had a Valkyrie’s skull on his person.

And then came the worst part of all. 

The Jötnar served up the pot of meat and one brought over a bowl for her. They removed the muzzle and got a spoon out. She had her mouth forcibly opened and found herself choking on the vile stew, juices sliding down her gullet and into her stomach. She threw up too many times to count as she was force-fed parts of her own mother. All the while, she was laughed and jeered at by the brutish fiends who had desecrated her mother’s body. She could do nothing except be still, fearing what they’d do to her own body if she was disobedient. 

Once the feast was over and done with, she was collared and dragged along to a nearby sleigh, forced inside and made to sit on one of the Jötunn’s large laps. She ended up with their gigantic cock head in her mouth, choking around the large appendage, grateful it was only her tiny mouth they were using. Small mercies.

Their seed covered her face and remained there until it had frozen over her eyelids, forcing her to remain blind for the rest of the trip. She had no idea where she was, she didn’t know if they were going to let her live or murder her like they had with her mother. She was grateful when the filth was wiped from her face, but she wasn’t grateful about discovering she’d been taken to the heart of the Jotunheim Empire.

Utgard.

She was dragged before the King and forced to kneel with her head bowed, muzzled after she had thrown up her meal over the lap of one of the Jötnar who had attempted to get her to put her mouth on their genitals. She had also been punched and kicked a few times, but the pain didn’t matter to her at that moment. She felt numb all over.

So dazed and out of sorts, she wasn’t aware of what was transpiring around her until the King snapped his fingers. One of the Jötunn princes emerged from the shadows. Apparently he was called Býleistr, and he was reaching the age where he was looking for a Pet to keep him warm at night. She was his ideal Pet, from what she gathered. 

He named her Sága. And Sága she remained for years to come, as she grew older and older until eventually, she was mature enough to become impregnated with his children. Twins. She was blessed with twins by her Master. His Pet, round with child, bearing him children who would continue the legacy of their cruel, bloodthirsty father.

Ülle and Uffe were their names. Ülle was sharp and deadly and cunning, Uffe was soft and timid and frightened. She did her best to protect them from the wrath of their father and grandfather. She knew they would be ostracised for their size, she knew Ülle in particular blamed her for being so little. But her babies never stopped loving her, even when she was dragged into the frozen throne room and made an example of for daring to speak with one of the Mothers. 

The Mothers were the concubines of Laufey. His favourite one was Fárbauti, who Sága had dared speak to about an ailment Uffe was experiencing. She had been seeking advice, but Býleistr, who had a fraught relationship with his mother Fárbauti, misunderstood the situation and believed her to be planning an escape. So he dragged her before the King and allowed five of his most loyal comrades an opportunity to sample her soft, warm flesh. He didn’t even care that his own children were witness to their mother being assaulted. He just wanted to feel powerful and in charge.

He didn’t feel so powerful when Ülle and Uffe stabbed their father that night. He didn’t feel so powerful when they ripped out his tongue and fed it to the wolves. He didn’t feel so powerful when his own children brought him to the half-starved wolf pack the King kept when he wished to torture his enemies. He didn’t feel powerful when he was thrown to the wolves and left to be devoured as his blue-eyed blue-skinned children watched on, seeking revenge for their broken mother. 

The next morning, the King of Jotunheim awoke to the news that his son was dead and his grandchildren and their mother had vanished. Revenge was the only thing he had in mind. He would hunt those three down for the rest of his days if he had to, anything to ensure his son’s spirit rested in peace. 

With nowhere else to go, the young children and their mother fled to the mountains, and from there sought a way off the realm. As luck would have it, a band of adventuring Æsir came upon them, led by the golden haired prince Thor, who took one look at the starving children and their broken mother and shouted to the heavens for Heimdall.

The Bifrost brought the small family to the Realm Eternal. And then, when they believed themselves to be finally free and safe, the Allfather’s Einherjar shot arrows straight into the skulls of her children. She was too slow to shield them, too slow to respond in time. Her children were bleeding out over the Rainbow Bridge, there was shouting from the Prince and his companions, but all Sága could do was stare into their vacant, unseeing eyes and remember all those years ago when her mother had been brutally mutilated by that band of abhorrent Jötnar scum. 

The Æsir were no better than the Jötnar. They just masqueraded themselves as being civilised, when deep down they were just as barbaric and bloodthirsty as those they claimed to loathe. Sága didn’t even care that she was dragged to the dungeons, she didn’t care when she was brought before the Allfather and questioned, she didn’t care. She didn’t have anything left. Her mother was gone. Her children were gone. Her Master was gone. She had no home. No family. Nothing left to live for. 

They kept her in the dungeons because they didn’t know what else to do with her. The Æsir healers couldn’t fix her. Nobody wished to have her near, fearing her and dreading the sight of her vacant, unblinking eyes. The prince, feeling guilty, refused to look at her, refused to do anything except say that he had ensured her children were given a proper burial. It didn’t matter. They were dead. They were innocent children who had been murdered in cold blood by the Einherjar, who had suffered no consequences for their actions. Her children’s blood was on their hands, and yet they didn’t suffer. Nobody suffered but for her.

Years and years passed her by in the dungeons. She read books that were brought by the Allmother. She didn’t do much else. She mostly stared vacantly out of the shimmering golden barrier, staring at each new prisoner who was brought to her dungeon. 

One day, a new prisoner arrived, settling into the cell next to hers. They seemed important, given fancy furniture and stacks upon stacks of books. She could sense something off about them. They weren’t Æsir, though apparently they were an Asgardian Prince. She could almost taste the Jötunn stench wafting from him, and initially, she had recoiled, but she began to find it comforting, almost familiar. It reminded her of her Master, during those times when he had been kind enough to bite her gently when he was in the mood for breeding her. Usually, he would bite her until she lost so much blood she fell unconscious. He had once told her he preferred it when she wasn’t moving. He liked pretending she was dead. He had told her he often fantasised about her being dead, a sentiment she had started to share with him, at least until the birth of her children. She would never have left them to suffer the wrath of their father alone. Never.

The prince in the cell had, from what she had overheard from the guards, committed a crime on Midgard. Why was the Allfather concerned about the wellbeing of such a primitive realm? She also noticed that the prince was frequently visited by astral projections of the Allmother, his mother. They would often have disagreements, but the love was clear to see. It made Sága think of her children and what they would be doing if the Einherjar hadn’t killed them. Would Ülle be practicing with knives and daggers? Would Uffe be training to become a healer? He always liked helping people, whereas his sister had always preferred hurting people. 

One day, the prince had apparently been bored enough to approach the dividing wall that separated them. He had his hands clasped behind his back, looking at her rather imperiously. 

“You never talk, do you?” he began. Sága regarded him blankly. “Are you braindead?”

For the first time in what must have been centuries, she hoarsely said, “As braindead as you are.”

That seemed to amuse him.

“You are rather fascinating. I heard that you were the one who had those Frost Giant children. What ever happened to them?”

“Your men killed them.”

“My men? Oh, believe me, I have no men.” He smirked wider, as though the thought of being a solitary figure was impressive. “Who was the Jötunn you fucked, anyway? I’m curious as to what sort of creature you deem attractive.”

Sága regarded him with the same blank expression, even as the first kindling of furious outrage began growing in her belly. 

“My Master was Býleistr, Prince of Jotunheim,” she stated, unimpressed by the way he recoiled as though struck.

“Býleistr? Laufey’s son?”

“Yes.” She decided to humour her own curiosity by asking, “Where is Laufey now?”

“Dead by mine own hands.”

Sága felt surprisingly neutral about the news of Laufey’s death. 

“You killed him? Why?”

“To prove a point.” 

“To prove what point?”

He seemed to grow angry and irritated by her inane questions. “Why does it matter?”

“You smell like him,” she blurted out suddenly, taking them both aback. “You stink of my Master. You are no Æsir prince, you must be Laufey’s runt. I heard rumours of a child stolen by the Allfather. Does it amuse you to know your adopted father’s own Einherjar murdered your niece and nephew? I suppose you don’t care, do you? After all, they were only children. Their existence was meaningless.”

She was babbling, she realised, but she found herself unable to stop. She was choking on her own tears, she was scratching her arms, she was shaking and dry heaving as she spilled her guts out to the stolen relic locked in the cell next to hers, with him becoming more and more horrified the longer she went on, telling him of her life as her Master’s Pet, at witnessing her mother’s slaughter, having her children taken from her. By the end of it, she could only manage to say one thing and one thing only.

“If I could go back in time, I would sacrifice myself for my children without a second thought. That is my only wish.”

Loki never forgot those words. He never forgot about the woman whose life had been ruined since childhood. And so, when at last he gained the ability to travel through time and space, he went back to the day she had been slain, when the prisoners had rioted and broke into her cell and killed her in cold blood whilst he watched, unable to do anything. 

He made eye contact with his younger self. He took Sága into his arms and, with assistance from the Tesseract, took her back to that day all those years ago. And when the Einherjar fired their arrows at her children, she was there to shield them, allowing them and her younger self enough time to run back to the Bifrost and have Heimdall send them somewhere much more safer, where they could live their lives and find happiness finally.

Loki returned to his present and found the small family on Alfheim. He smiled at the sight of two blue teenagers helping their mother tend to a gaggle of half-elvish children, who shared their mother’s golden hair and their father’s pointed ears. He smiled even wider when Sága emerged, heavily pregnant, holding a child in her arms, and called for one of the children.

“Loki! Get yourself cleaned up for dinner!”

Her eyes found his. He waved at her. She looked at him in surprise and then she smiled. She turned and stepped back into her home, her children trailing after her, his little namesake peering at the man his mother had been looking at. Loki waved at the little elvish boy, who gave the most mischievous smile before shapeshifting into a snake and slithering away.

It felt good to be the hero for a change. 

**Author's Note:**

> Loki is alive and well and Saga is alive and well and she frequently invites him round for tea with her and the children okay thanks bye


End file.
